


Leave Your Panties on the Windowsill

by ifinkufreaky



Category: American Gods (TV)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Drabble Collection, F/M, One Shot Collection, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Tumblr Prompt, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 11:30:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11805108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifinkufreaky/pseuds/ifinkufreaky
Summary: A home for the smutty Mad Sweeney drabbles that seem to keep happening on my Tumblr. Each chapter is a disconnected short fic.





	1. when you leave your panties on the windowsill

**Author's Note:**

  * For [candlelight27](https://archiveofourown.org/users/candlelight27/gifts).



> Prompt: do you have any headcanons on our Leprechaun giving oral?

What do you  _think_ happens when you leave your panties on the windowsill, instead of the usual bread or milk?

Gif o[riginally posted by takeshiluv](https://tmblr.co/Zvbipv2MeXQht)

Sweeney takes that as his cue, he knows what kind of sustenance you are offering tonight. He draws the window up in one large hand and fits his impressive frame through with only a small amount of stumbling, just a few curses muttered under his breath as he squeezes into your room.

There’s no need for words as he looms over your bed; while you’re trying to think of a witty quip about your pot of gold he’s already drawing the sheets to the side and settling himself between your knees. He watches your face as he slides his hands down to part your bare thighs though, making certain you really want this.

He savors you. First he tastes the wetness between your folds like you’re a new, exotic wine, and soon he’s sucking at you like this is his only real nourishment, little moans of gratitude punctuating the movements of lips and jaw. He is a magical creature after all, you suppose he really could be getting some form of sustenance out of this. Perhaps his being needs more gifts than just the humble ones your grandmother told you about.

Or maybe it’s just a while since he’s gotten laid.

Either way, he seems to want your pleasure as much as you do, and when he tells you a name to shout while you climax you do it joyfully, loud enough to wake the neighbors. He deserves it. 

He seems surprised when you don’t let him leave right away, when you offer to return the favor. “Bless these modern women,” you hear him say under his breath as he strips off his clothes and climbs up the bed beside you.


	2. those fingers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> shameless smut inspired by the little finger wiggle he does in the fight with Shadow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> blame @candlelight27 for putting these thoughts into my head. “…dirty talk while those fingers wiggle…” Except I can’t blame her for that one terrible joke that I am so sorry for putting in here but I knew I was going to have to write my stupidest/silliest headcanon somewhere, might as well put it here and keep it out of a better piece.
> 
>  
> 
> Glossary (from http://www.bitesize.irish/blog/irish-endearments/ )
> 
> A chuid (uh KHWIJ): Portion/share
> 
> A mhuirnín (uh WUR-neen): Darling
> 
> A stór (uh stohr): Literally “my treasure.”

  


 

You giggle, perched on his lap, but you’re not laughing  _at_   _him._  You’re not in a position to let any maligning thought enter your mind about the grinning Irishman with his hand between your legs; Sweeney, he said his name was.  _Mad_ Sweeney. Okay, maybe you can laugh a little about that. He certainly does have  _mad skills._

He’s got you in a booth in the back of the bar, pulled you there when it became apparent that your tongues were not going to stop twining around each others’ out on those rickety bar stools, when hands could not be restrained from burrowing beneath clothes. The bulb illuminating that corner of the dingy establishment had burnt out, conveniently, just as you shoved the enormous, captivating man onto the padded bench and climbed in on top of him.

Maybe you’re giggling because you’re not sure you’re the kind of girl who fucks in the back of a bar. But Sweeney’s amazing fingers are doing things in the slick folds between your thighs that you never even imagined, his eyes searching yours in the dim light. “Are ya alright, love?” he asks, his voice a barely restrained growl, face cocky like he’s quite certain the answer is yes but he’s giving you the chance to change your mind anyway.

His fingers pause their dance and your laughter turns to a groan. You grab at his wrist, pushing him against you. “Don’t stop,” you sigh. He smiles and resumes the quick little movements, making you gasp a little as you continue to explain. “I laughed because this just feels so… magical!” You shiver as slides one long finger inside you, never breaking the rhythm of his thumb against your clit. His mouth is hanging open as he watches your face, seeming to relish your every reaction.

You really never thought you’d find yourself doing something like this. You had just met this man tonight; and you’d watched him win a  _barfight._  And somehow not get thrown out himself. Then when he swaggered over and started chatting you up he did fucking  _coin tricks_. You’d never tell your friends that part, but watching the way his fingers moved had made you instantly wet.

Sweeney is fulfilling every promise his show had implied, now, sliding and twisting as he fucks you with his fingers so good that you have to bite your lip to keep from crying out. At least the bar is loud and no one seems to be looking your way. You wonder if he pays someone off to be able to get away with doing whatever he wants around here.

The urge comes to taunt him a little and you break the kiss. “I just knew it,” you say, voice a little breathy.

“Knew what,  _a chuid?”_

You smirk into his waiting face. If he’s gonna keep speaking Gaelic to you, you’re gonna do your best to keep him talking. “When I saw your fingers flipping those coins around, I just knew you’d know exactly what to do with a wet little pussy like mine.”

Sweeney smirks back at you, does something strange with the two fingers currently plunged inside of your throbbing cunt. You feel the edge of something cold, then he slips out of you to brandish something in front of your face.

Another fucking gold coin, coated in your clear, thick arousal.

“What the fuck?” you screech, confused and a little weirded out. Just because the man had done the sexiest little magic show you had ever seen earlier, didn’t mean magic was actually  _sexy._

Sweeney just stares you down, not losing any confidence at all at your reaction. He brings it to his mouth and sucks your juice right off of it. He cocks his head to the side when you don’t say anything. “What, you want me to put it back?”

You feel your arm pull back; then you slap the smirk right off his face.

With another flick of his fingers the coin disappears. “Careful love, I’ve been known to hit back.” When he looks back up his eyes have gone darker, pupils pooling into a lusty black. His eyebrow flicks. “Or maybe you like it a little rough.”

He must have seen something change in your face when he threatened you with his voice so thick with desire. Confirmation to his question. Sweeney winds his fingers through the hair at the base of your skull, tugging just a little to pull your face back into his for a drowning kiss.

You moan into his mouth as his hand starts sliding down your belly again. You’re just so open to him in this position. No way to hide your arousal, not that you really want to. He lets himself get reacquainted with your clit for a while before diving back into your pussy, getting back to where he left off.

“Do you like that,  _a mhuirnín?”_  he growls against your cheek. His fingers flick and pulse with a playful yet determined rhythm.

You’re so focused on the heavenly feelings emanating from your cunt that you don’t answer, can’t even kiss him anymore. Your hands cling to the back of his neck as Mad Sweeney takes you on the ride of your life.

“Dirty girl. Ya like to be touched right here where anyone could walk by and see?”

You moan at that reminder, feel yourself clenching around those long fingers as your arousal shoots up another notch.

“Ahh yes,” he purrs softly. “Make that face again. I’m lovin’ how much you love this.” His fingers curl, zeroing in on your g-spot. You’re no longer sure how you’re going to stop yourself from screaming out the intensity of this pleasure, louder than the music from the jukebox.

Sweeney keeps muttering the filthiest things in your ear. “You feel so fucking good honey. So hot and tight.” His free hand is roaming over your body: squeezing at your ass, teasing your tits, stroking then burying itself in your hair. “Are you going to come for me? Right here with all these people around? You gonna come while some stranger you just met finger fucks you in the back of a shitty dive bar?”

You wrap your mouth around the place where his neck meets shoulder and clench your teeth together, using his flesh to muffle the screeching groan he’s drawn out of you with that line.

“Or maybe you’re a naughty girl, you’d rather I take ya home and lay you over my knee, give you a few whacks with me belt.”

Your whole body sudders, shivers against him, and you know you’re close.

“Bet you’d like it if I carried you off to the alley out back, fucked you proper.” You move your mouth up his neck, more gently this time, and moan into the kiss your press under his ear. “Up against the brick wall, your legs wrapped around my waist, nothing holding you up but my arms and my prick buried so deep inside of you…”

You want to tell him “yes,” but you feel your orgasm rushing up out of the depths at you and don’t dare distract him by suggesting you’re ready for a change of location. Nothing that would make those fingers pause for even a second; it’s too late, he’s making you come right here. You keen into the stubble at the side of his head, one hand clutching his wild red hair as the other anchors you in the flesh of his shoulder while your climax rips through you, white-hot blinding pleasure that seizes up all your limbs and narrows your world down to nothing but him and his magic hands.

You hear him chuckle through the animalistic sounds you’re making, and he keeps fucking you all the way through your finish. He stills only when you do, his free hand stroking slow and long up your flank. “That was beautiful,  _a stór. **”**  _

You settle on his shoulder for just a moment, catching your breath. He makes a very nice resting place. When you shift, you feel the hardness still straining under his pants and all further thoughts of rest fly out the window. “Your turn,” you say, giggling again. “What were you saying about taking me out back?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary (from http://www.bitesize.irish/blog/irish-endearments/ )
> 
> A chuid (uh KHWIJ): Portion/share
> 
> A mhuirnín (uh WUR-neen): Darling
> 
> A stór (uh stohr): Literally “my treasure.”


End file.
